Snape in Drabbles
by Mary West
Summary: From the Livejournal Snape  Last Drabble Writer Standing  competition, based on the Deadly Sins.
1. SIN

SIN

Title: **A deceitful witness that uttereth lies**  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: He's a baaaaad Potion's Master.

It's dark.

And quiet.

So very, very quiet.

So quiet that even Peeves is snoring in a corner, and Mrs Norris is dreaming somewhere of mice in servitude.

So quiet that the black-robed figure who flits down the corridor is merely another fluttering shadow between the moonlit patches.

He looks both ways, then slips into a doorway, down the stairs, and into the laboratory.

There, a small cauldron simmers on a hob, an ethereal pearl-luminous wisp of steam curling off it and around the room like a ribbon of pale light. The scent conjures memories of summer evenings, soft and cool after a rainshower, but it seems somewhat ... lacking.

Snape checks again to make sure no-one is lurking, most especially that damned nosey poltergeist. Flipping the edge of his cloak back with a stealthy twitch, he slides a tin out from a side pocket. One quick pull on the tab, and the lid opens to reveal a dark foetid mass of cooked meat, which he pours into the cauldron with a well-practiced gesture. Two stirs clockwise, one anticlockwise, and the scent from the potion is suddenly fuller, closer to complete. He checks the instructions; confirms that it will have finished its simmering in time for class tomorrow.

For a second, the light from the fire beneath the cauldron illuminates the label on the can: "Mother Drayton's Best Poisoned Dragon's Liver – Just like Granny used to make" The words catch his eye, and he smiles grimly. "At least I won't have dragon bile all over my hands" he mutters to no-one in particular. "And no-one would know the difference anyway." He leaves, conscious that a naggling voice in the back of his head is chanting in a tone just like Peeves "Cheater! Cheater!"

His last action before leaving is to stash the can back into his robes.


	2. WRATH

WRATH

Title: Anger

Rating: PG  
Warnings: Violence and implied sex  
Word Count: 398 (yay Open Office)

_1979  
Golborne, near Wigan, March 18_  
The pain. The never-ending ceaseless PAIN and the screaming in his head and he has to let the anger out and he needs to HURT and he needs to BURN, and there's an old pit and he goes there and he SCREAMS and the fire and sparks fly and there's an explosion and sirens and he melts off into the bushes and is gone before the ambulances arrive.

_Middletown, PA, March 28_  
He can't stop brooding about the unfairness of it all and how he's been used and manipulated by his parents and the teachers and those damned snotty maurauders and now by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and so he's hiding out in the grotty industrial area where he feels at home but he's so ANGRY and he hides in his tent on the island but the pressure's building and he SCREAMS and lashes out and there's heat and fire and bright blue light and alarms and he apparates before the decon team find him.

_Far South Indian Ocean, September 22_  
He's been sent to check a little island but the waterproofing fails on his cape and his fires won't stay alight for long enough to heat up food and he loses it again and he _screams_ and there's a flash and another and a boom and a blast of heat and he's away before they send the satellites and the searcher planes and they almost catch him this time.

_Columbia, December 12_  
He's making his way back up to the rendevous in Mexico when he hears the news. That she's pregnant. Which means that she and ... Potter... have been... This time the rage completely takes over, and the anger veil descends and he can feel wave after wave of brilliant red energy surging from him up and down and deep into the earth and he feels as if his entire soul is churning, until he comes to his senses and realises the ground is _still_ rolling and people are screaming and buildings are collapsing. And the ground finally settles and the silence and the dust fall like mist around him and he knows that he must _never_ lose control again.

_1994  
The Staffroom, Hogwarts._  
"So Professor Snape, tell me your secret. You've taught some of the most clueless, uninspiring students I have ever seen. How is it that you never lose your temper?"


	3. SLOTH

SLOTH

Title: _**acedia**_  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Violence and abuse  
Word Count: 297

In a dim, dark house in an industrial town in the north of England, a grubby young boy sat at the table and stared at the empty bowl in front of him.

Behind him, in the gloom beside an empty fireplace, a woman lay crying quietly. Every broken sob grated in the boy's ears. He longed to do something - _anything_ - to make it stop, but he knew she wouldn't allow it. Knew that whatever powers he possessed, whatever strange knowledge or uncanny abilities he could call upon, _she_ could do twice, thrice as well - and that she _wouldn't_. Mustn't. Or the beatings would start again, and worse. And that if _he_ did anything, his mother would suffer for it.

The back door lay broken on the path outside, destroyed when his father had stormed out. The night's darkling was creeping into the kitchen, hiding the pathetic traces of dinner where it had been thrown to the floor. The thin broth had already soaked through the floorboards, and despite the hunger that was eating away at him from the inside, the boy did not try to rescue the few pieces of vegetable remaining. Instead he stared into the bowl, and tried not to cry.

It took another few minutes before the woman rose and moved over to her son. One eye swollen shut, her mouth bruised, she sat and took her son's hand in hers. "Could you stand it, Severus," she said, "if we ... the charity kitchen ... "

"There's nothing else for dinner" he stated in a monotone. "He won't work, there's no money, and he won't let you create anything. We have no choice - but I do." He paused, then looked her full in the face.

"I won't be like him."


	4. GLUTTONY

GLUTTONY

Title: Gastrimargia  
Rating: G  
Warnings:  
Word Count: 150

"A little more roast pork, Professor Snape?"

"Thank you, no. I have had sufficient."

"But professor! You are so pale ..."

"Pray disturb yourself no further on the state of my health, Professor Flitwick. I do not feel the cold, and I find myself unwilling to indulge in rich foods."

"I _do_ worry though, Professor. We cannot have staff keeling over from malnutrition! Soup? A pudding?"

"My constitution would not permit it."

"Then may I have the house elves fetch you a dish more to your liking?"

"Even _they_ cannot conjure anything that would lure me. And forgive me, please. I have homework to mark."

The black-clad professor stood, bowed, and headed for his study. He locked the door, then rested against it momentarily. Three more steps took him to a chest, which opened automatically.

The glorious red and blue gleam of three hundred Creme Eggs filled his hungry eyes. 


	5. PRIDE

PRIDE

Title: Joining the circle.  
Rating: G  
Warnings:  
Word Count: 375

"Welcome to Slytherin, Mr Snape! Lucius Malfoy, Prefect." The lanky blond shifted up to make space, and turned to shake hands with the young lad who was seating himself gingerly on the benches. "Narcissa, Avery, make our new member welcome. Crabbe, pass those pumpkin scones before I make you."

Although this last command was delivered in a smooth, elegant tone, Severus Snape felt the cold behind it, and surmised that here was a wizard who expected obedience. He was therefore quite surprised when the prefect patted him on the back and looked over him in a very approving manner.

"I _am_ glad you're with us. After all, Slytherin has _always_ been the house for leadership and resourcefulness, and from the look of you, you've been resourceful." At this, Malfoy lifted Snape's wrist, and the edge of the new robe fell back to give a glimpse of the darned and patched shirt beneath. Snape felt a burn of shame and made to cover it, but Malfoy stopped him with an elegant wave of his other hand, and a toss of his collar-length hair. "This thrift does you no dishonour. Some of the best wizarding families are having a hard time of it these days."

Suddenly a pumpkin scone hit the back of Snape's head, propelled with some force from the red-and-gold decorated benches in the middle of the room. Laughter rose from one patch, and he just made out a cry of "Snivellus!" before the Headmaster's voice rode over the background din with "Ten points from Gryffindor for picking on another student, and another ten points for wasting food."

"Gits". Lucius mumbled something further below his breath, and then looked approvingly as Narcissa brushed the remaining crumbs from the back of Severus's collar. A totally unfamiliar feeling filled the young lad, rising through his body like the glow from a hot butterbeer. He looked up at Lucius Malfoy and around at the others at his table, all of them united in supporting _him_ against those who would pick on him. Unconsciously, he straightened up and squared his shoulders, almost smiling back at Lucius, who regarded him with approval.

"That's right, young Snape. You _should_ be proud to be in Slytherin. After all, it's where you belong."


	6. ENVY

ENVY

Title: Covet  
Rating: G  
Warnings:  
Word Count: 316

_Every year it had been the same._

"Welcome back, Professor Quirrel!" Dumbledore shook the wizard's hand, and Snape stared into his teacup and scowled.

_Every year, at the same time, as if it's happening on purpose._

"Professor Lockhart! Welcome to Hogwarts." Flitwick had been most encouraging, even asking for an autograph in his copy of "Travel with Trolls". Snape glared at the lurid purple robes, and resisted the urge to hex that simpering smile off the new professor's face.

_I wanted it. I wanted it so badly._

"Professor Snape." Lupin held out his hand, obviously prepared to be at the very least civil, but Snape ignored it and merely muttered "Lupin". The new professor's hand hung in the air a moment before he abandoned the effort.

_It was all I had left. My only ambition. Was it a punishment, to keep me from it?_

"And I'm sure you'll join me in welcoming Professor Moody to the staff." Snape's dark expression should have curdled the milk on all the tables. Minerva tried to pass him the scones, but he sat motionless and she gave up and put them beside her.

_I know sometimes he had no choice. Or did he?_

"And you've been trying for the position of 'Defence Against the Dark Arts'?"

"Yes"

"But you've not been successful?"

"Obviously." He wondered if there was a special potion she used to keep the warts off that toad-like face. If only she'd ask him for some ...

_Every year, waiting, hoping, watching the new teachers fail and knowing somehow that the next year, it still wouldn't be __**him**__!_

"And this year, Professor Snape will be teaching 'Defence against the Dark Arts'."

_And now that he had it, now that it was finally his, he knew he'd been fooling himself. And that he would have given it all up just to have Lily back again for one short hour..._


	7. GREED

GREED

Title: I covet...  
Rating: G  
Warnings:  
Word Count: 250

One hundred scrolls, silver-lined, in perfect order, catalogued by ingredient, duration and efficacy against werewolves (if appropriate).

The experimental notes of Stefana de Corwyn, including the last, scorched half-page. She always had been overly adventurous.

And eleven of the twelve globes of _Sinus Monstrum_, each glowing with its own special light in the dim office in the crypt. Eleven. The gap in the row grated on him every time he looked greedily over the collection, like a sore tooth or an ink blot on a clean parchment. Snape ran his hands lovingly over the row again, trying to ignore the interruption that gnawed at his consciousness.

It couldn't be bought for lover, power or money, but he had the power to make it for himself. The knowledge. The patience. Just not the main ingredient. Distilled essence of a rare fire-breathing salamander-like creature from the far East, filtered through ash, steeped in a flask of rocket-leaves for six weeks ... he knew the steps by heart, could recite them in his sleep, but the creature was elusive, and he had his teaching duties. Time spent drilling the recipe for Murtlap Essence into that slobberworm of a Longbottom could have instead been spent sailing in a balloon over mountains in China, peeking under rocks, drinking tea with local wise men while they chewed tobacco and pondered his questions. One day...

Snape locked the case over the globes, and stomped off to the next class. One day. One day soon. He'd have them all. 


	8. LUST

LUST

Title: A need.  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Implied sexual stuff  
Word Count: 492

Late at night, at the bottom of Spinners End, where the damp from the river steals up your nose and numbs your senses until you almost can't smell the stagnant puddles and the rotting carpets that make up most of the other houses, at the end where the shadows are the darkest and feel as if they're trying to wrap around you and steal your soul, one house shows a light.

A flickering, blueish light.

A light that makes you want to step just a little closer to see what's making it.

And inside, in a small front room with torn curtains and a shabby carpet, a young dark-haired man is watching the television as if he could be part of it.

It's his little secret. His dark desire. Not the gameshows, or those children's programs with the teddy bears. No, it's the old American 60s series about the part of his life that's missing.

A family.

He tried a few of them. Flicked around the options and rejected most. Too trite. Too silly. Too different from anything he could imagine. Until he came upon one that was so _normal_ it made his heart ache.

A father who cared about his children and encouraged them, even when they wanted to try something totally strange. The son was average, made mistakes, ate too much and broke things by accident - and _still_ he was loved and cared for. The girl was bright and had ideas and experimented - and her parents were _so_ proud of her.

And a loving mother, who was beautiful, and who would glide instead of walking, and who always spoke softly, but who wasn't afraid of showing her opinion, or her disapproval, or her mastery of languages. She tended the flowers and watched over the household, and her love for her children was enormous. And she and her husband truly cared for each other, and _desired_ each other with a passion that made Snape shift uneasily in his chair to find a more comfortable position.

Snape's soul would ache with longing to _be_ one of that family, with their grandmother and their uncle and the housekeeper... He'd deliberately ignore his surroundings and focus intently on the screen, tuning out the canned laughter and the dated dialogue, and wish he was _there_, in their midst.

He'd imagine he was standing beside Lily, her in one of _her_ beautiful dresses that flowed and clung, and he'd be gently sliding her sleeve up and kissing up her arm, and calling her "Querida" and "Cara Mia". Of dancing with her, moving together as one, looking into each other's eyes as if there was no-one else in the world. And later, alone in bed, he'd imagine Lily looking up at him the way the wife looked at the husband, and him kissing her as she cried out in passion "Bubeleh! Severus! YES!".

And then he'd go to sleep and dream of his perfect family.


End file.
